


Tropes over Coffee

by Applemysteries, cheshirecatstrut, CMackenzie, Marshmellow Bobcat (MellowBobcat), nevertothethird, scandalpants, steenbeans, VMarsTrek, winterfool



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Romance, VMTAP20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applemysteries/pseuds/Applemysteries, https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecatstrut/pseuds/cheshirecatstrut, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMackenzie/pseuds/CMackenzie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowBobcat/pseuds/Marshmellow%20Bobcat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertothethird/pseuds/nevertothethird, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalpants/pseuds/scandalpants, https://archiveofourown.org/users/steenbeans/pseuds/steenbeans, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VMarsTrek/pseuds/VMarsTrek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfool/pseuds/winterfool
Summary: As an experiment, a bunch of authors wrote one-shots for Ficapalooza 2020, based on the premise, "Trapped by circumstance in a coffee shop, they share late night confessions and troubles with their exes." None of the stories that resulted are remotely alike. :-)
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Comments: 146
Kudos: 111





	1. 'Midnight Monkey Madness' by Cheshirecatstrut

“Look at it this way.” Logan pauses to drink a sip of espresso, then winces as something strikes the window with a loud thunk and screech. “We may be trapped in here for days, until someone rounds up forty tranq darts and an animal-control van, but at least we’ll be fully caffeinated.”

“And fed.” Veronica turns the Danish she’s holding sideways, so she can eat a neat ring around the perimeter of iced cake without disturbing the cherry-filled center. “That’s probably why the baboons want in here so badly…they smell baked goods. Otherwise, they’d be enjoying their Lord-of-the-Flies-style monkey jamboree in a more banana-laden location.”

“Just as long as they don’t start throwing rocks again.” Logan lifts the hem of his uniform pants to study the large bruise blossoming on his shin. Pokes at it, winces, empties his cup, and gets up to refill. “That one little bastard who led the escape has uncannily good aim.”

“I would like to remind you, at this—“ she checks her watch, “—three am juncture, that YOU were the one who said, ‘Hey Veronica, we should go undercover to investigate the disappearing-exotic-animal case. It’ll be FUN to feed lions and tigers and bears! And don’t we deserve an adventure, after six long, blissful, drama-free months of dating?’” She completes her preparatory eating and shoves the good part of the pastry in her mouth. “Well, voila…adventure. More the Jurassic Park kind than the ‘tossing a ball for baby wolves’ kind, but I still maintain it’s less dangerous than the month after you finally dumped Carrie. These baboons aren’t actually TRYING to tear us limb-from-limb…I don’t think.”

“Clearly you aren’t staking your life on that statement.” He returns with fresh coffee, handing her an identical cup. “Since you booked halfway across Primate Village and bolted us in here before I finished dialing 911. But I saw the biggest baboon come over the lip of the enclosure, and let me tell you—he had mayhem written all over his stupid, red-nosed face.”

“It was no one’s fault they got that ladder,” she maintains, but the silent look he casts her is so pungent with irony she relents. “Fine, it was KIND OF Stosh’s fault, but he only lowered it in there to collect the GoPro that lady lost this afternoon. He thought all the animals were safely contained.”

“I wonder if anyone’s found him yet,” Logan muses, although not as if he really cares. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being run so fast.”

“He’s very nimble.” Veronica takes the tiniest sip of her drink to check the temperature, then squints at the door, where a monkey face has appeared above the shade. It climbs astride the transom, tiny hands working dexterously at the locked latch. “He deftly avoided a breakup between us for almost four months, and I was pretty determined to leave him. That couldn’t have been easy.”

Logan smirks, tearing open a packet of peanuts and tossing a handful into his mouth. “You wanted me SO bad,” he singsongs, offering the sack, which she smacks away. “You could not WAIT to hit this, frequently and repeatedly.”

“Yeah, well, the sight of you in a Monkey Village uniform with suspenders has me re-evaluating.” She presses closer in contradiction to her statement as the transom shudders open a centimeter. “What did 911 say, again, before we got stuck in here, and you lost service?”

“Stay on the line while we send help.” He looks at her over the cup’s rim. “Maybe they were only prepared for HIGHER primate-related emergencies?”

“Where do they think higher primates got their tempers, evolutionarily speaking?” She grabs up a doorstop and flings it at the transom, hitting the monkey’s busy, questing fingers with truly spectacular aim. It screeches like a thing possessed and flees into the night; but these little shits are sneaky and mean, so it’ll be back. Too bad for them, she’s sneakier and meaner.

“Well at least we caught our culprit.” Logan crumples the peanut packet in his fist. “Even if Piz DID have to sneak us onto the premises after-hours with his Monkey Madness Coffee Shop manager keys…setting in train events that seems to be reaching crisis point.”

“Leo D’Amato, whooda thunk it?” She cuddles closer to his solid warmth, polishing off her coffee with a sigh. “Then again, when crimes are consistently committed after-hours, isn’t the security guard ALWAYS involved? Someone’s got to open the gate.”

“In any situation that involves D’Amato, low morals, and bribes, the answer’s gonna be yes.” Logan tenses as frantic scrabbling sounds emerge from the storeroom, followed by a heavy thud and crack. “Shit, that sounds bad,” he says. “Could they be inside the building? I know they have opposable thumbs and rage issues, but are they REALLY smart enough to break and enter?”

“Underestimating the enemy is always a mistake.” She casts around for weapons, notices a mop and broom in the corner, and crosses the room to fetch them. “Back-to-back?” she suggests, tossing the scrubber Logan-ward. He catches it in one hand and twirls it show-offily, with such obnoxious competence Veronica’s slightly turned on. “Go home with our shields, or on them?”

A steady, rhythmic thudding begins against the storeroom door, and Logan holds up his broom handle, which she crosses with hers. “For Sparta,” he confirms, and sets his back against hers. In the distance, the wail of a siren makes itself heard, growing louder via Doppler Effect as it rapidly approaches.

Across the room, repeated smacks and hoots herald the presence of angry primates, seeking a forbidden sugar fix. The lock holds as shouted voices sound outside, and colored lights strobe through the windows.

And then, abruptly, it cracks.


	2. 'Popsicles' by Scandalpants

Veronica rearranges the cakes in the refrigerated, glass display case for the tenth time that night. The scraps of cool air do nothing to dissipate the thin layer of sweat over her skin. The owner, she’d bet, is wallowing in the bought air at their local Safeway a block over, and the “ten minutes” she nipped out for unnecessary supplies will be an hour, easy. Just in time to lock up after Veronica finishes the cleaning.

This heat wave is doing funny things to her, bringing up wants she’d rather ignore. The sooner it’s over, the better.

Behind her, the door slams open and in walks one of those Neptune  _ it  _ guys. Tall, gorgeous and golden, with muscular arms and chest, flat stomach, and rounded calves _. _

She has to give it the genetics in this town; it produces some good eye candy.  _ Down, girl. _

His voice on the phone is loud, annoyed. “Bullshit, Lilly. Nothing’s changed. I told you, I’m done.”

He grabs a table, folding himself into the small booth, all arms and legs and skin in the tight t-shirt and shorts picked out, she’s sure, to show off the well-honed physique. “You want to know how I mean it?”

Golden boy smacks his flip phone shut with dramatic flair, even though she’s the only one there to witness it. He picks up a menu and fans himself, looking for relief from the still, muggy air.

Veronica ignores him for a minute, wiping down the counter, taking minor pleasure in knowing he’s waiting for her acknowledgement. “Iced Italian, cherry,” the guy calls, not bothering to look at her.

“Cream?”  _ Or should I just spit in it for you? _

“Yeah.”

He barely glances at her when dropping off the drink, looking at the window instead. She waits a beat for the thank you she’s owed, knowing it won’t come. “We’re closing in ten,” she says, walking away..

The bell over the door chimes, indicating another customer.

“Hey, Veronica.”

“Piz.” She means her tone to be as unwelcoming as it sounds. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, his shoulders back ( _ as if that’s how a shrug works _ ) to better display the t-shirt she bought him six months ago. When they were dating. Which he’s worn non-stop since they broke up. “Coffee.”

“Yeah, because when it’s midnight, and a hundred and ten degrees, you want hot java in a place where the air-conditioning’s been broken since March.”

The way he tucks his chin low makes her want to punch it. Even more when the flirt of a smile prefaces what she knows will be a lame line. “Well then, it’s the friendly service.”

While Veronica busies herself making the drink, the golden boy stares pensively out the window, and Piz prattles on about… well, gun to her head, she has no idea.

“Five-fifty,” she tells him, placing the coffee on the counter in a go cup, adding a straw for niceties. “Night.”

“Veronica, did I offend you? I mean, I know we broke up but thought we could at least be friends, or--”

“No,” she exhales, blowing an honest breath out. “You’re the least offensive person I know.”  _ And it’s probably the thing I hate most about you. _

“So, friends?”

She wants to say no. To shut the door on him in such a final way he’ll change direction if he even sees her in the hallways at Hearst. Take a note from the golden boy over there and cut him out of her life.

_ But _ , she sighs,  _ I promised to be nice _ . “Save me a seat at Wallace’s game this weekend.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” He waves and backs out the door, his goofy grin far too pleased.

“I’ll be right back,” she tells the golden boy, who’s quietly ignoring his drink while spinning his phone on the table.

Sliding a wedge in the doorjamb to the walk-in fridge, Veronica grabs onto a shelf and rests her head on the icy edge. The air cools her damp skin, but not her temper.  _ Damn you, Wallace. _

_ Crack _ ! 

The wire shelf, her fingers looped into the rolled edge, slips in her hands. “Shit!” The end she holds dips under the weight of the milk cartons, and everything slides her way. “Help,” she yells, doing her best to support the shelf and free her fingers. “Liza!”

Seconds later, arms come around her and lift the shelf as if it weighs ounces, not pounds. Veronica slips her fingers out and shakes her hands, turning to find herself nose to chest against an olive-green t-shirt stretched tightly over the muscular curves of its occupant. Scents of salt, sunscreen, and something undeniably male fill her nose.

Looking up, she sees it’s the golden boy who’s come to her rescue. Upon closer inspection, she finds he’s not the bland, classic handsome she’d assumed. His face is long, with cheeks still carrying the residual roundness of youth, nose and ears prominent, and eyes umber pools of amusement. The total is unique, better than the individual parts should allow. His hair is overlong, overstyled and over gelled, bordering on ridiculous. Yet somehow it works.

When his mouth turns up in a Cheshire-cat smirk, Veronica has the strangest impulse to bite his lower lip.

The thought propels her out, under his arms, and she frantically works to unload the shelf, placing the cartons on the floor. “Sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

Golden boy lowers the now-empty shelf so it rests at an angle, the opposite side still tethered to the wall. He brushes a long finger over the hole left by a broken support. “Gremlins live among us?”

Snorting a laugh, Veronica crosses her arms against the cold now seeping deep in her skin. She tilts her head at the refrigerator door. “You don’t know half of it. Last week the--,”

Realization comes over her, and she turns to push on the door, knowing it’s useless. “Dammit.” The piece of wood they use to keep the door from closing now lies useless at her feet, displaced when the golden boy came to her rescue. “Can I see your phone?”

“Left it on the table.”

“Mine’s under the front counter.”

“Want me to try it,” he asks, pointing to the door.

“No, the internal release broke last week. We can only open it from the outside.”

“Then what’s the plan?”

Every guy she’s ever dated would try the door anyway. Nice that he’ll take her word for it. “Wait for the owner to come back. Could be minutes, could be an hour.”

He nods, rubbing an arm to create heat and casting his eyes around the room. “You know this is the premise of every great porn, right?” His dry delivery takes any hint of lechery out of the comment.

“I prefer the innocent-small-town-girl-in-a-big-city trope.”

“Really?” His head swings around, glancing at her nametag before giving her an exaggerated grin that turns her knees to water. “So, Veronica. Where you from?”

She laughs, crossing her arms tight across her chest for warmth, and other reasons. In retrospect, going braless today may not have been the best choice. “Nice try, Neptune boy. I’m from the big city. Chicago.”

“How do you know I’m from Neptune?” She steps back as he makes a fast move for the door, and assumes she was wrong. He will try to open it.

Instead, he plucks the zip-up sweatshirt hanging on a hook and returns to stand in front of her, not waiting for permission before he drapes it over her shoulders. He holds the thing closed while she slips her arms in the sleeves.

“Thanks,” Veronica’s voice trails off, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

The sweatshirt is cold, and huge. Her companion’s eyes lock into hers. “Logan.”

“Logan. You Neptunites look over us littles. Bark demands, don’t both with pleases and thank yous.”

He winces. “Sorry, I was having a bad day.”

In Veronica’s experience, behavior like that comes from arrogance more than mood, but she lets it slide. “Lilly?” At the look he gives her, she tilts her head toward the door. “I overheard.”

Inside the sweatshirt she warms, while Logan appears to grow colder in his thin t-shirt and shorts. He hugs himself, bouncing on his feet. “Kind of like your  _ friend _ ,” he lets the end hang there, as she did earlier.

“Piz,” she fills in.

A wicked glint lightens his eyes, making him even more appealing, and she knows he’s biting back a comment about the name. “They both seem to be having a hard time moving on.”

His bouncing continues. Veronica vacillates a few seconds, running every other possibility through her head before giving in. She takes off the sweatshirt and hands it to him. “I have an idea. Sit down and put this on.”

Logan sits on the wooden pallet she indicates, back against the wall, and slips his arms in the sleeves. Even on his much bigger frame the sweatshirt hangs large and loose. Veronica settles in the opening between his legs, her back against his chest, and slides the zipper up, effortlessly, enclosing them both. Logan’s arms range free while hers cross at her chest.

Her head nestles perfectly in the guy’s shoulder, and after a minute they both relax into the growing warmth. It’s not perfect, surely his legs are as cold as hers where their skin doesn’t meet, but it’s definitely better.

_ Better?  _ Her inner snark snarks.  _ You’re enjoying the hell out of this, Veronica. _

So, sue her. Circumstances put her here. Doesn’t mean she can’t take a vicarious thrill or two.

“This is like the Mary Poppins’ bag of sweatshirts,” Logan jokes.

“Mikey, our stocker. He’s a big guy.”

His arms encircle her tentatively. “This okay?”

“Yeah.”

The quiet hum of the refrigerator allows for an extreme awareness of his body. Each breath that tickles her ear, his warm, firm torso at her back. The brawny arms encasing her.

Over their heads, the motion sensor light goes out, leaving only a square of brightness from the window.

“How long,” she asks, reaching for something, anything, to distract her from the intimacy of snuggling with a stranger in the dark, “did you and Lilly go out?”

“Wow. Wham, bam, get personal, ma’am.”

“Fine. Animal, vegetable or mineral?” When he scoffs, she rolls her eyes. “You think of a way to pass the time, then.”

He takes a minute to decide, and she waits him out. “Four years, on and off. More off than on, the last couple.”

“Why?”

“Lilly went to Vassar. Long-distance relationship, you know how it is.”

Veronica shakes her head. “Not really.”

Logan seems to debate and then sighs heavily. “She’s better at loving what’s in front of her.”

“She cheated.”

“More like she timed our breakups perfectly with her hookups.” When Veronica is quiet, he laughs dark and bitter, and his body grows tense behind her. “You think I’m a chump.”

“No. I was thinking how I envy the ability to believe the best in people.”

Relaxing against her, he settles his chin so his low voice speaks directly into her ear. “You don’t?” A shiver shoots through her, surprising them both. His arms tighten around her. “That cold, still?”

“Yeah,” she lies, unmoored by the involuntary reaction of her body.  _ Where the hell did that come from?  _ “I’ll be okay. What, um, what were we talking about?”

“Your untrusting nature.”

Veronica laughs. Usually when people say that, it’s in the form of an accusation. “Occupational hazard.”

“I didn’t know baristas were so cynical.”

She debates letting it lie there, then figures  _ what the hell _ . “I’m a private investigator. A lawyer building a case against this place for unsafe working conditions hired me to go undercover.”

Logan’s quiet for a long beat. She prepares herself for the banality of the questions to follow.  _ Yes, I am. No, really. Since I was sixteen. I am careful. Are you telling me size does matter? _

“A P.I.,” he whistles. “Color me impressed.”

_ Oh, one of those,  _ she thinks, groaning inwardly. He’s probably conjuring up fantasies of VI Warshawski and Jessica Jones and will want to know the most sordid details of the job.

“What about you and,” he seems to leave space for her to fill in the blank, but she’s lost the thread of what they were talking about. “Pez?”

“Piz.”

“Piz.” He draws out the name, teasing her with it. “How long were you together?”

“Five months.”

“He cheat?”

“No, he was just… without.”

Logan laughs, making her wonder if he recognizes the reference. “It took you five months to figure that out?”

“It took me a week. But he’s my stepbrother’s roommate, and the first friend he made here so,” Veronica shakes her head. Something about this boy and talking with him in the dark makes it hard to delve in half-truths. Maybe because he took her unconventional career in stride. “Honestly? He was nice. Didn’t demand a lot of my time or emotions. It was easier to stay.” When he’s quiet she adds, low. “I’m not proud.”

“So, what changed?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I wanted more. Someone who was all in.”

“I wanted someone worth going all in.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Veronica cringes. It sounds like the cheesiest of pickup lines. Instead of pulling away, though, Logan’s cheek rests more heavily against the side of her head. 

“Well, one thing for sure, we can never date,” he says. It’s odd to feel someone behind you and know they’re smiling. “Our meet-cute is just  _ too _ cute.”

“Nothing more adorable than mutual hypothermia.”

“That picture of us in side-by-side hospital beds, holding hands? It’ll be viral in seconds.”

Veronica tilts her head up and back, enough to see his eyes shining in the light from the window, and the grin he’s giving her. “Along with the tidbit I keep your frostbitten toes in a jar by my bed.”

Logan’s laugh is barely a breath, but his entire chest shakes with it. His smile softens, the humor morphing into something else, creating an intensity Veronica’s never felt before. Logan moves first, kissing her tentatively, more of a glancing question. She brings her hand up from the sweatshirt to pull his head down and give an emphatic answer.

Behind them, the refrigerator door swings open. The overhead lights come on, blinding them both, though Veronica can still make out Liza’s apple-shaped body and slack-jawed mouth. “Veronica, what the hell are you doing? I can fire you for this.”

“No, you can’t.” Veronica unzips the sweatshirt and gets her stiff legs moving enough to stand. “Because I quit.” She turns to Logan, holding out a hand to help him up. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

He winces at the line as he gets to his feet. “Really?”

“Like I would pass that up.”

As they leave Liza, the heat wraps around her, a distance second to Logan’s. Veronica grabs her bag and phone, Logan his own phone from the table, and they meet at the door he holds open for her.

“So,” he says.

“So.”

A renewed awkwardness works its way between them as they walk to the parking lot. “In the top five of the weirdest nights?”

“Top ten,” she says, grinning when he quirks an eyebrow at her. “Being a P.I. comes with the occasional side of crazy.”

“I’d like to hear more about that.”

They reach her Saturn, parked next to what she assumes is his Land Rover. Veronica leans against her driver’s door while Logan stands in front of her, tall enough to climb.

_ Seriously. Down, girl. _

“Maybe… I could join you at Hearst’s game Saturday. Get dinner after.”

“You like basketball?”

“No.” The wickedness she noticed earlier returns to his eyes, compelling her to grab at his t-shirt and pull him toward her. His voice becomes whisper as he comes closer, his face inches from hers. “I really don’t.”


	3. 'It Was a Shit Show' by Applemysteries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is logan/veronica, set during season 2. i’ve fucked around with the season 2 timeline because it’s not like that season makes any damn sense anyway. takes place sometime before 2.11, “donut run” since duncan is mentioned, but the PCHers turning on weevil (which happens in 2.12, “rashard and wallace go to white castle”) has already happened. i’d probably place it after 2.09, “my mother, the fiend”, but before 2.10, “one angry veronica” just because logan/weevil have already teamed up but while lilly is mentioned it’s not in regards to veronica chewing him out for erasing the tapes. anyway. was that all necessary? no. but i’m not deleting it either.

“I need to talk to you.” 

“Tough,” she spat on auto pilot. And then - “How did you get in here?” 

“The side door. You told me all about it over the summer, remember?” 

“I’m surprised you had time to listen in between all the gang wars you were starting.” 

Logan sighed. “Can you refrain from busting my balls and being a fucking bitch for five seconds, Veronica?” 

Veronica tilted her head to the side and pretended to think about it. “No, that doesn’t work for me. And I have no interest in talking to you, so, hang out here, sleep here, do whatever you want I don’t care — but if you break anything, I swear I’ll take it out of your ass.” 

Veronica finished straightening up the bottles of syrup, picked up her bag and turned to leave, not even sparing Logan a second glance as she stalked off. 

Logan kicked hard at the counter as she left, and then rested his forehead against it, trying to talk himself into chasing after her and finding a way to make her listen. Not rising to the bait and calling her a bitch would probably be a good start.

He heard her footsteps approaching and smiled, faintly. Curiosity always was her kryptonite. He looked up and found she was glaring at him, her arms crossed and looking damn near ready to breathe fire. 

“What?” He snapped, because honestly, he never could help himself. “You forget how to storm out again?” 

“If the door was propped open when you came in, why the hell did you shut it behind you?” 

Logan stared at her blankly. 

“The doors fucking broken, you _idiot_. You’ve just locked us in here.” 

“So, pick the lock, _idiot_ , breaking and entering’s practically your middle name.” 

“If I pick the lock, the security system will go off and believe it or not, they don’t give baristas the fucking security code to the building, Logan. The cops will show up.” 

Logan raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “They’re making you lock up, by yourself, but they won’t give you the code?” 

“That’s not the point. If you hadn’t fucking shown up here — to bother me — none of this would’ve happened, and I’d be on my way home now, instead of stuck here with you.” 

“Oh, blow me, I don’t want to be stuck here with you either.” 

Veronica growled and took a half-step in Logan’s direction, and he wiggled his palms at her quick in a gesture of conciliation. 

He waited a beat, drumming his fingers against the counter and giving her time to cool off. When he spoke he took care to make his tone as polite as possible. “Um. I do find it kind of hard to believe that you don’t....already know the code though.”

“Yeah, well,” she looked at him bitterly. “My life is supposed to be _normal_ now, and normal people don’t need to know security codes.” 

“Oh, Jesus,” Logan rolled his eyes and hopped up onto the counter. “I will never understand your pathetic obsession with being normal.” 

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” 

“No, Veronica, I mean it, seriously, what the hell was so great about your “normal” life? Your mom’s a drunk who cheated on your dad, and all of your friends secretly fucking hated you. So please, tell me what’s so great about that?” 

“You know, I never did properly thank you for turning everybody against me.” She shoved his chest with both hands, hard enough that his body swayed, and he grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from toppling backwards. 

“It’s not like it was hard,” he muttered, glancing up at her from under his eyelashes. “That’s what I’m saying. Most of them were just waiting for a reason.” 

“And you were just waiting to give them one.” 

Logan looked away and Veronica shook her head, disgusted. She sat at the furthest table away possible, while still keeping Logan in her line of vision (god only knew what sort of trouble he’d get into if she turned her back on him), and sent a quick text to her coworker explaining that she was stuck in the building and to please, god, come let her out. 

Logan pretended to be very interested in the sleeve of his shirt, pulling at a loose thread while his legs jangled incessantly against the counter. After ten minutes Veronica could. not. take. the sound anymore and she launched her hair tie like a rubberband across the room at him, laughing victoriously as it smacked him squarely in the forehead. 

“You have a problem.” Logan said flatly, and he shot the hair tie up at the ceiling, catching it deftly when it ricocheted back, and slipped it over his wrist. 

“Are you stealing my ponytail?” 

“Yep,” he popped the P and smiled at her. 

“You are so annoying,” but she smiled back in spite of herself. “What did you want to talk about anyway?” 

“Oh, um,” Logan shrank in on himself and scrunched up his nose. “It’s nothing, forget it.” 

“You trapped me in a building over it, so it better not be nothing.” 

“Well.” Logan fidgeted, rubbing a hand anxiously at the back of his neck and trying to determine how pissed she was gonna be that he hadn’t lead with this. “Weevil’s kind of....bleeding out in my car.” 

“WHAT?” She jumped to her feet. “Logan, are you fucking kidding me?” 

“I tried to tell you!” 

“Calling me a bitch and telling me I never had any friends does not constitute trying to tell me.” 

Logan pointed at her accusingly. “You said you didn’t want to talk to me!” 

“BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T FUCKING SAY WEEVIL WAS BLEEDING OUT IN YOUR FUCKING CAR!” Veronica took a deep breath and tried to regain her composure, noting that Logan had hastily slunk behind the counter in an attempt at self-preservation. “This is unbelievable. We’ve been sitting in here for thirty minutes and the whole time...but then, what’d you care, you’re probably the one that beat him up in the first place.” 

“Do I...look like I’ve been fighting?” 

“You look like I’m gonna kick your ass.” Veronica threatened, and then held up a finger to quiet him as she tried to call Weevil. “He’s not answering.” 

“Yeah,” he scuffed his toe on the floor. “I’m pretty sure he passed out.” 

“What. Happened.” 

“PCHers, I guess, I dunno. But uh, he looks fucking terrible. He always looks fucking terrible, I mean, because he’s a sack of shit, but,” Logan glanced up and took one look at the stormy expression on Veronica’s and winced. “Nevermind.” 

“Why would the PCHers beat up Weevil?” Her voice was too calm. Scary calm. 

“He...might’ve realized that I didn’t kill Felix, you know, fucking _finally_ , and, I guess that means that one of them did it, so.” He shrugged. 

“Are you telling me that you and Weevil have been trying to find Felix’s killer all by yourself?” Logan nodded. “Oh my god. You’re both morons.” 

“Oh, whatever, how is this any different than when you were running around trying to solve Lilly’s—“ Logan cut himself off and swallowed hard. “You know, aside from this, it’s been going pretty well, so fuck you.” 

“This is a pretty fucking big, ‘aside from this,’ Logan. And did you ever stop to think how _bad_ it would look if somebody found Weevil like that in your car? Or, fuck, if he actually died back there while you were in here insulting me?” 

“Okay, technically, it’s Duncan’s car.” 

Veronica lunged for him, scrambling over the counter top like a mad woman while Logan _screamed_. She smacked every inch of him she could get to before he successfully managed to wriggle away, holding his hands out to ward her off as she began to advance on him again. 

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Veronica, will you just chill out?” Logan stumbled backwards into a table as he kept his eyes solely trained on her. “It’s like you said, I couldn’t exactly go get him in my own car.” 

“So you used my boyfriend’s?!” 

“No, I used _my_ best friend’s and I asked him if I could borrow it first, so there.” 

“And if I call Duncan right now to double check that he was cool with you borrowing his car to go pick up a bloodied and beaten Weevil, he’s gonna say that too?” 

Logan hesitated. “I may have left out some details when I asked him.” 

She threw her hands up in the air, well and truly fed up. “This is a fucking shit show.” 

“If only somebody knew the security code,” Logan started and then yelped as she punched him. “I’m k i d d i n g, Jesus, lighten up.” 

“Weevil could die, and we could be implicated, thanks to you, and go to jail, where Lamb would fuck with us until the end of time. Do not tell me to lighten up.” 

“He’s not gonna die — he’s a cockroach, those fuckers live forever. Unless, you know, you stomp on them enough...” 

“I could kill you.” 

“Yeah,” Logan gave up and sprawled out on the floor, hiding his face behind his hands. “This is a shit show.” 

Veronica laid out next to him, the energy to fight with him gone as she diverted it all into hoping Weevil didn’t actually die and that Janice, her coworker, got back to her soon. 

“Why’d you bring him here anyway? What the hell am I supposed to do with him?” 

“You were the first person I thought of,” Logan said quietly. “I guess I should’ve called first.” 

“I wouldn’t have answered.” 

“Yeah.” He frowned. “That tracks.” 

“I’m lying, of course I would’ve answered.” She nudged his leg with her leg, to try and convince him of that, somehow, through her touch. “And why’d Weevil call you and not me anyway?” 

“I think I’m his sidekick. So, there’s that, plus I’m expendable, so if a PCHer happened to catch me out there no harm, no foul.” 

Veronica pushed off the floor with a huff. “You’re not expendable.” 

“Right.” 

“Think whatever you want, Logan, but don’t involve me in your pity party.” 

“I’m having a pity party? Aren’t you the one convinced that everybody from the bus crash died because of you?” 

“Duncan told you that?” 

“....No.” 

“So that’s what you guys do, you make fun of me behind my back when I’m not around? What a joke.” 

“Oh, come off it,” Logan sat up, agitated. “I hate to break it to you, Veronica, but you’re not that special, nobody is eliminating a bus full of school kids for you.” 

“It really doesn’t bother you that all those people died, does it? You just shrug your shoulders and throw your despicable little life’s short party so all the 09ers can have an excuse to get nice and drunk.” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you think happened on that bus, or what actually happened, or whatever, but if it had careened off the cliff on the way there half those 09ers you’re so pissed at would’ve died too.” 

“Not you, though. Out of everybody who was supposed to go to the stadium, you’re the only one that didn’t.” 

“Oh, of course,” he climbed to his feet, lashing out at a nearby chair as he stood, sending it skidding across the floor. “I didn’t kill Lilly, I didn’t kill Felix, but you’re right, I totally killed everybody on that bus and forgot to mention it.” 

“I was supposed to be on it,” Veronica’s voice cracked and she quickly faced away from Logan, not wanting him to see her cry. “On the way back, I was supposed to be on it.” 

“Okay,” Logan said, softening. “I’m glad you weren’t.” 

“Really? That’s all you’re going to say?” She wiped at her tears furiously and turned back around to look at him, disbelief etched on her face. 

“Veronica, I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m glad you weren’t on it, and I’m glad Duncan wasn’t on it either. And same goes for Dick and Beav and all the rest, and maybe that makes me a shitty person, but,” he shrugged one shoulder and then let it drop. “I’m still glad.” 

“Meg was on it. A lot of people were on it.” 

“Yeah, and that sucks. But it’s not like I knew any of them. And neither did you, by the way. You should know better than most: nothing is more repulsive than phony grief.” 

“I’m not faking my grief,” she defended, though she knew what Logan was talking about, the days following Lilly’s death when the whole school seemed to be crying, even though none of them had actually fucking known her. 

“Okay,” Logan said, and left it at that. “You should try calling Weevil again.” 

“You call him.” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be pissed that I’ve left him locked in the backseat of a car this whole time, so I’d really rather not.” 

Veronica sighed. “Still no answer.” 

“Shit. D’ya think that’s good or bad?” 

“There’s really no way it’s good.” 

“He could be sleeping it off,” Logan suggested hopefully. 

“You described him as bleeding out, and I don’t think it’s possible to sleep that off.” 

Logan chewed on his shirt sleeve. “It wasn’t that bad.” 

“I’ve seen your version of not that bad, Logan, and it’s pretty damn bad.” 

She was talking about the bridge. They’d never really talked about it, after it happened, so sometimes it almost felt like it had never happened at all. (Their summer felt like that, all over, like the whole thing had just been some hazy, heatwave fever dream. But Logan didn’t think he would feel like this if it had never happened, if he’d just dreamed it up, all cut up inside and angry and miserable and still in love, always always still in love). 

Logan blinked and looked away from her. “You’re a detective, Veronica, can’t you just detect what the security code is so we can leave?” 

“Yeah,” if Veronica was thrown off by his sudden coldness she didn’t show it. “I’ll get right on that.” 


	4. 'Woman Seeks Tequila' by Nevertothethird

Okay, so, she may well be a 32 year old divorcée with a roommate, but Veronica Mars was also someone who could, in a pinch, rock a pair of four-inch heels and a mini-dress. (Earlier in the day, she also discovered that with the right YouTube video she could repair a sink, fix a doorknob, and stabilize a wobbly table.)

Tucked away in the bathroom of her (well,  _ technically _ it was still mostly the bank’s) small café and bakery, Veronica applied her lip gloss and nodded at her reflection. “This is no big deal,” she self-talked. “One drink. That’s it. One drink, you take a cab home. First date done.” She shrugged. “Easy.” 

It was probably against ten different liquor laws to serve herself a drink on her business premises but  _ God  _ she needed one. The point of marrying your high school sweetheart was to avoid all the adult dating bullshit. Fat lot of good that did. 

Back in the main room, the glow of the kitchen light and La Jolla’s street lights softly illuminating the space, she perused her limited liquor options. Pushing aside a bottle of amaretto, she startled at the sound of someone banging on the glass door of the café. She rolled her eyes.  _ Of course _ it didn’t matter to the wealthy San Diegoan masses that the lights were out and the sign on the door read closed. Standing up from behind the bar, her indignation morphed into incredulity. 

“What are you doing here?” she shouted. 

“I called Mac and she said you were probably still here,” Logan shouted back. “Open up.” He banged the door one more time for emphasis. 

“Stop getting fingerprints all over my door, you ingrate.” 

He smiled, wide and devious, and she watched in horror as he blew hot air on the glass and wrote ‘I ♡ You’ in the steam. Ignoring the little stomach lurch her stomach gave at the note, she unlocked the door. 

“The windex is in the storage closet.” 

“That’s good to know. What are you still doing here?” he asked. 

“Working late on the new lunch menu.” 

His eyes scanned her from head to toe. “You always bake in Manolo Blahniks?” 

“It’s adorable you think these might be Manolos. I brought a change of clothes for my date tonight.” 

“What date?” 

“I’m meeting that guy from Wallace’s work.” 

Logan’s eyes widened. “At this hour?” 

“It’s barely midnight,” she said.

“This isn’t a date. It’s a booty call.” 

“It’s not a booty call.” 

“Logan Echolls knows a booty call when he sees one.”

“Logan Echolls should resolve to cease referring to himself in the third person.” She returned to the bar and resumed her liquor search. How was she out of tequila? Must have been all the weekend brunchers ordering palomas. “I told Scott –” 

“Scott?”

“Yes. Scott,” she said, not trying to hide the defensive slant of her words. “I told him I had to work late and he suggested meeting for a drink.” 

“So you’re looking for alcohol because –?” 

“Why are you here right now?” 

“I need your help with something,” he said. 

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” 

“It could not. I was on my way to Dick’s party and he texted that Jenna was there.” 

Veronica frowned. “Which one was Jenna?” 

“Set my surfboard on fire when I told her we should see other people.” 

“Ah, Jenna,” she said, unscrewing a bottle of whisky and sniffing it. “Gross.” She screwed the cap back on. “I liked Jenna.” 

“Well you would. You guys have matching vengeance streaks.” 

“No,” she said, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I heard enough of that shit from Duncan’s family, okay? I don’t need it from you, too.” 

He took the bottle of whisky from her and set it on the counter. Without quite understanding how, he folded her into a hug. The added height from the heels made it so her head neatly tucked into his chest. 

“Hey, hey,” he said softly. “It was a joke. A bad joke.” 

“Yeah.”

“Bet you’re wishing you got more than just the best-friend in the settlement, huh?” 

She shook her head against his shirt. “Too many strings.” All she’d asked for was the cat and her own belongings; something Duncan’s parents were certain was some sort of mercenary tactic. She got Logan six months later when he showed up to the soft-opening of her café with a box of Captain Crunch Berries and an apology. 

Veronica pulled away from the hug and smoothed down the wrinkles in her dress. “I’m nervous,” she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. 

“You shouldn’t be,” he said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re a catch.” 

She snorted out a choked laugh. “You’re so full of it.” 

Logan shook his head. “Veronica, you have no idea, do you?” 

“No idea about what?” 

“How the rest of us see you.” 

“I think I’ll pass on knowing, thank you very much.” She stepped further away from him, cutting through the kitchen en route to the supply room. 

She heard him take a deep breath. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m pretty sure I have a bottle of mango tequila somewhere. A gift from a supplier.” 

“Mango tequila?” 

She turned around, walking backwards a couple steps. “Desperate times, desperate me.” She turned back around and heard him run after her. 

“Tell this guy you’ll reschedule.” 

“I’m going to have to go on my first post-divorce date eventually.” 

“I don’t like it. The whole thing sounds shifty.”

Following her into the supply room, Logan shut the door behind them. Veronica saw the unmarked liquor box and slid it towards her. 

“Ah ha!” she cheered at the sight of the bottle. “Someone wanting to go on a date with me sounds shifty?” 

“No, this just –” Logan ran a hand through his hair. “This isn’t right. Your first date post-divorce shouldn’t be some random setup after you’ve been working for 15-hours straight.”

“Sure,” she said dismissively. Clutching the bottle of tequila, she went for the door but Logan blocked her. “Let me by, Logan.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

“And so am I when I say let me by.” 

“Your first date should be with someone who feels so damn lucky to be taking you out, Veronica. Someone who can’t believe you would want to spend a single second, let alone a whole night, with them.” 

“You’re being mean, Logan.” 

“How?”

“That person doesn’t exist.” She reached around him for the doorknob and he blocked her again. “Move..” 

“Veronica, what if –?” The beat of her heart accelerated and she shook her head at him. “What?”

“No, Logan. We are not doing this.” She wouldn’t lose Logan, too. She refused. Mustering all her strength, she pushed him just far enough away from the door that she got a grip on the doorknob. She looked up at him. “I love you. You know I love you, but we can’t.” She twisted the knob and frowned as the door didn’t unlatch. Twisting again, harder this time, Veronica watched in horror as the knob fell off the spindle and into her hand. 

A tense silence descended over the room. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry.

Logan cleared his throat. “Is that supposed to happen?” 

She held up the doorknob. “I followed a YouTube tutorial.” 

“Might I suggest you use a different one next time?” He plucked the knob out of her grasp and tossed it easily from one hand to the next. “Since we seem to have the time I’d like to unpack that whole ‘I love you’ thing.” 

She uncapped the bottle of tequila, took a swig, and then offered it to Logan. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

He took the bottle and set it on a shelf behind him without taking a drink. “Really?” As he stepped closer Veronica pressed herself up against the door; her knees, her heart, and her mind all shaky.  _ Oh, God _ . “Let’s see about refreshing that memory, hmm?” 


	5. 'The Squirrel Flu' by Steenbeans

“C’mon, get in! Get in!”

Logan shoves the heavy metal door shut and turns both deadbolts. He flicks all four light switches off, including the cheerful blue neon that identifies the shop as “Lee’s Lattes”, and wastes no time moving over to the large wooden bookshelf that partitions the room into two sections.

To his surprise, the blonde woman beside him anticipates his intention. Following just two steps behind, she begins sweeping books off the shelves and onto the floor the moment she arrives; before he even gets the chance to utter his instructions.

Within moments the bookshelf is empty. Without speaking, he and the girl each take one side and lift, carrying it over to the large picture window. Logan slows his pace to match hers, nevertheless impressed by her strength. She’s tiny, and he can see the effort on her face even in the dim lighting of the coffee shop. But she doesn’t make a sound.

She lowers her side to the floor instead of dropping it, which he appreciates. Word on the street is, these…  _ things _ outside are attracted to both light and noise. After a few seconds, they each grasp the bookshelf again and push, shimmying it more securely into place in front of the window.

The large wooden case does a pretty good job with coverage, leaving only a foot or so of exposed glass above it. Now, they need to make it so heavy that it can’t be knocked over from the outside, in case anyone breaks the glass. Again she reads his mind, moving wordlessly to the center of the room and gathering up a pile of discarded books from the floor. 

They travel back and forth, back and forth, shoving the books onto the shelves in a haphazard manner that would normally set Logan’s teeth on edge. (An upside-down paperback of  _ Persuasion _ sits beside a hardcover rendition of  _ A Dance with Dragons _ , with  _ Junky _ perched horizontally above them both.) But there are far more pressing things to worry about than mixing genres, at the moment. 

Once they’re done replacing books, they don’t quit. They move to the nearest table and lift, carrying it across the room and setting it in front of the bookshelf. The tables are little round high tops, relatively lightweight and easy to carry. They won’t offer much protection on their own. But between the tables, chairs and bookshelf… Logan isn’t a religious guy, but he prays it will be enough.

When there’s nothing left to move, they both stop to survey their work. They’ve built a formidable blockade, reminiscent of  _ Les Miserables _ . (A copy of which currently resides next to  _ The Vampire Lestat _ , but there’s no time to think about how much that irritates him now.) And it will have to hold, because if it doesn’t… well, he won’t consider that possibility.

Breathing heavily, he walks over to one of the coolers and removes two water bottles, holding one of them out to the nameless blonde who’s just become his partner in… well, survival.

“Thanks,” she says softly, accepting the bottle. She untwists the cap and takes a sip. And it’s only then, as he’s watching the muscles in her throat move while she swallows, that he truly appreciates how good looking she is. He feels a familiar twitch in his groin and forces his gaze elsewhere.

_ Really, Logan? Now? In the middle of the fucking zombie apocalypse? _

He gestures for her to follow him behind the counter, where two soft-cushioned stools remain. She takes one and he takes the other, swiveling it so he’s facing her.

“Logan,” he says, sticking out his hand.

“Veronica,” she replies, shaking it with a firm grip. “Thanks for letting me in. Seriously. That tall fucker almost got me.”

“What the hell were you doing out there, anyway?” He glances at his watch, roman numerals glowing faintly in the dark. “It’s almost midnight.”

“I heard they prefer daylight and warmth. Which is obviously bullshit, but… too late now. How about you?”

“My condo complex got overrun. I had to get out of there fast, and this is the only place I could think of.” He takes a large gulp of water. “Where were you headed?”

“My dad’s. I was going to pick him and the dog up and hole up at my friend Lilly’s. But my car chose the absolute  _ worst _ time to die, as usual.”

“What makes you think your friend’s place would be any safer?”

Veronica smirks. “Because she basically lives in a fortress.”

Logan narrows his eyes. “Wait a minute. Are you talking about Lilly  _ Kane _ ?”

“Why, you know her?”

He chuckles. “We’ve met.”

Veronica makes a face but doesn’t ask him to elaborate.

“You’re crazy for going out there alone,” he remarks. “You know that, right?”

She shrugs, appearing unconcerned. “I can take care of myself.”

Logan senses that’s not hyperbole, and it only makes him like her more.

Veronica finishes her water, setting the empty bottle on the counter. “So, is this your place?”

“My ex’s,” he replies. “Parker. She gave me a key, once upon a time. And never asked for it back.”

“So you rolled the dice that she hadn’t changed the locks?”

“Yup.”

“And on a scale of one to ten, how pissed is she going to be to find you and some random girl camped out in her store in the morning?”

Logan shrugs and looks down. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. I heard she… you know, that she got sick.”

“Oh.” Veronica leans over, placing her hand on his forearm. “Hey, I’m really sorry.”

He doesn’t reply, trying not to think about sweet, bubbly Parker acting like one of those animals outside. He wonders how his other friends are faring, especially Dick. (Who, true to form, decided to head to South Africa for a surf trip in the middle of a global catastrophe.)

“It happens quickly, if that’s any consolation,” she offers. “When people change.”

“You know this from experience?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” She grimaces, then continues. “My dad’s partner Leo got sick last week- the first person I knew who had this. He was fine that morning, went to work and everything. My dad said they were joking around and drinking coffee at ten. By noon, he had a fever of one-oh-three.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. My dad took him to the hospital and I met them there an hour later. I went into the room, and he was just sitting up in bed, staring at me. He was totally still. Five minutes later, he was full-on monster. Coming after me, my dad, the nurses. They had to put him in a straight jacket.”

“That’s… terrifying.”

“You’re not kidding. He died three days later.”

There’s a loud crash outside, a metallic crunching, and they both look towards the front of the building. The long, low beeping of a horn follows…and then abrupt silence. Neither one of them address it, and Logan forces the likely possibilities of what just occurred out of his mind. He turns back towards Veronica.

“Any idea how he caught it?” he asks.

“My dad and I are still trying to figure that out.”

“I heard it was those new energy drinks. Some kind of bad reaction?”

Veronica nods to the neon green cooler to her left, with the crimson  _ Smash Pop! _ logo on its side. “That stuff? Please tell me you don’t  _ actually _ believe that.”

“What? It makes just as much sense as anything else I’ve heard.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, it really doesn’t.”

“So, what’s your theory then?” he asks. “What’s turning people into zombies?”

“Well, according to actual  _ science _ and not an internet meme, they aren’t zombies. They don’t eat brains. They’re just regular people who happened to contract a virus. It makes people run a high fever, hallucinate and behave violently. They transmit it by biting other people, which- as far as we know- is the only way it can spread. Unfortunately, once you get it… there’s no cure.”

Logan shrugs. “I know all this. My question is, where did it come from in the first place?”

She hesitates. “Just between you and me? I’ve got a friend in the CDC who’s telling me the virus jumped to humans from squirrels.”

Logan bursts out laughing. “Squirrels?  _ Squirrels _ ? Man, if I die of the fucking Squirrel Flu… How embarrassing is that? Do me a favor and have them leave that out of my obit, will you?”

“Is it any more embarrassing than dying of the Smash Pop Energy Drink Flu?”

“Somehow, yes,” he replies, still grinning. “Yes it is.”

Veronica shakes her head at him and stands up, walking slowly around the room. He watches her open up cabinets, checking the contents of the shelves and drawers and nodding to herself. Then she turns the flashlight on her phone and disappears into the kitchen for several minutes.

When she returns, she takes a seat on her stool. “Well, it’s not a shopping mall or anything, but there are worse places to be trapped.”

“Horror fan, are we?”

“A little.” She smiles. “Seriously, though. We’ve got plenty of water. Food. A kitchen and a bathroom. And how many people who are on lockdown right now have access to espresso?”

Logan chews on his lower lip, trying to decide how honest to be with her. Then he snakes his arm behind him and removes his gun from the waistband of his jeans. “Incidentally,” he replies, pointing the weapon skyward. “We also have this.”

Now, most women barricaded into a dark, enclosed space with a strange dude carrying a gun would’ve been- quite understandably- nervous. Yet Veronica merely leans forward, inspecting the weapon with interest.

“Baretta M9,” she notes. “You ex-military?”

“Navy,” he confirms. “I got a medical discharge a few years back because of this thing with my knee. How’d you guess?”

“That’s been the standard issue sidearm for  _ years _ ,” she explains. “And people like what’s familiar.” 

“Ain’t that the truth.”

Veronica looks at him for a long moment, then clears her throat. “So, full disclosure…” She lifts up her jacket, revealing a gun in a holster.

Logan squints at the weapon, trying to make out what it is. “What’s that, a revolver?”

“.38 special,” she confirms.

“So, what, you’re a cop?”

“P.I.,” she replies, lowering her jacket back over her shirt. “And you…” She narrows her eyes, studying him. “You’re in private security.”

“Okay, how did you guess  _ that _ ?”

Veronica laughs. “Can’t give away all my secrets.” 

Logan grins. “I’m starting to think I picked a pretty damn good person to get stuck in here with.”

“Well technically, you didn’t pick me so much as I forced my way inside.”

“Typical relationship, for me.”

“Oh yeah? You have lots of people busting down doors to be with you?”

Logan smirks. “You have no idea.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Okay. So we have weapons.”

“And know how to use them.”

“Things… could be worse,” she acknowledges.

Logan is thinking things could be  _ much _ worse, but he doesn’t say it aloud. “All we need is a deck of cards.”

Veronica lifts the strap of her enormous messenger bag over her head and hauls it up onto the counter. After a moment of rummaging, she produces a blue pack of Bicycle cards and tosses it to Logan.

_ This girl is incredible. _

“I… might have to marry you.”

She snorts. “How about we make it out alive first,  _ then _ we talk relationship goals?” She pulls her cell phone out of her pocket. “I’m going to call my dad, let him know I’m okay. You should do the same.”

“My phone’s almost dead.”

Veronica pulls an iPhone charger out of her bag- because of  _ course _ she has an iPhone charger, even though she uses an Android- and hands it to him.

“Thanks,” Logan replies. 

He takes the charger from her and plugs it in, connecting his phone but making no move to dial. He hopes she’s too distracted to notice, but she’s watching him curiously.

Logan clears his throat. “There’s, uh, no one I need to call.”

Veronica looks at him, suddenly somber. “You’re Logan Echolls, aren’t you?”

_ Great. Here we go. _

“According to my license.”

He waits for the  _ look _ to cross her face. That combination of curiosity and concern; the one that’s been following him around, even across continents, for years. 

It doesn’t come. She just nods, looking a bit introspective but certainly not uneasy. “’Kay. Hey, I saw some chocolate chip muffins in the back. You want one?”

“Uh, sure. Thanks.”

She disappears behind the swinging kitchen door, actual flashlight in hand this time, and he stares after her. After a moment, he can hear a mumbled conversation- presumably with her father. 

Not wanting to eavesdrop, he busies himself with his phone. There are a few amusing texts from Dick- still just as oblivious as ever at a private resort- and three voicemails from perspective clients. Apparently, even the uber-wealthy are getting jumpy.

Veronica comes back through the door with muffins in hand, but before she reaches him her phone vibrates. She looks down at the display, which he can also see clearly. 

_ Piz. What the hell is a Piz? _

She sighs heavily, handing one muffin off to Logan and staring down at her phone for a full ten seconds before swiping right to answer.

“Hello? Yeah, I know… No, it’s really crazy out there… I’m fine.” She listens for a long moment and closes her eyes. “That’s because I’m not there… No, I’m not at my dad’s either... I’m- hold on, okay?” 

She mutes her phone and looks at Logan, biting her lip. “So, um, there’s this guy. Piz? And he’s kind of… His apartment building is overrun, and he was coming to my place but I’m obviously not there…”

Logan sighs.  _ Great. And things were just starting to get interesting.  _

But what can he do? Sure, he’s a bastard, sometimes. But he’s not a sentence-some-poor-shmuck-to-certain-death-just-so-his-hot-girlfriend-becomes-single kind of bastard.

“He can come.”

She gives him a small smile, unmuting the phone and relaying their location. When she hangs up the phone, he tilts his head at her. 

“So what kind of name is Piz?”

“It’s just a dumb nickname. His last name is Piznarski.”

“And his first name?”

“Stosh.”

“I’m not sure what’s worse.”

“Yeah,  _ you _ try figuring that out when you’re in bed with him.”

“Oh, is it going to be  _ that _ kind of lockdown situation?” he teases. “Because I’m not sure I’m ready for that level of intimacy with your boy Piz.”

“He’s not my boy,” she clarifies. “He’s my ex.”

“And yet, you’re still the person he calls in a crisis?”

“I’m the person  _ everyone _ calls in a crisis. And yes. He’s… still hoping for more.”

“So you broke up recently?”

“Try four years ago.”

_ Interesting. _

Logan crosses his arms over his chest. “Did I just agree to be party to some painfully pathetic groveling sessions for the next few days?”

“Days?” she replies, with an innocent smile. “It may be  _ weeks _ before this situation gets under control.”

He groans and stands up, walking over to the front door to retrieve his hastily discarded backpack. He unzips the pocket, producing a bottle of Jameson, and heads back over to Veronica. 

“This is going to require a little something to dull the pain.” He uncaps the bottle and takes a swig.

“Mind sharing?”

Logan suppresses a smile and passes the bottle over to her. They settle in at the counter, deciding to play a little rummy. (He wishes it was strip poker, but maybe they’ll get there on night five or six. Oh, shit. He forgot about fucking  _ Piz _ again.)

He’s not sure how much time passes. Long enough for Rummy 500 to become Rummy 5,000, and for both him and Veronica to develop an extremely healthy buzz. After seven rounds in a row of getting his ass soundly kicked, they seem to have migrated closer to one another. Their knees are touching, and their gazes are starting to linger, and  _ god _ does she smell good, and-

There’s a pounding at the door. 

_ Fucking  _ Piz _. I forgot all about our unwanted house guest. _

Logan throws his cards down. “Is he  _ seriously _ that stupid?”

Veronica doesn’t reply, but as she sets her own cards down on the counter she looks just as agitated as he feels. They jump off their stools at the same time, and she draws her weapon as they approach the door. Logan does the same and disengages the safety, using his other hand to twist both deadlocks open. Taking a deep breath, he cracks the door.

A young man with a Beatles hairdo and a gaping flesh wound on his neck lunges towards the opening, snapping his teeth at Logan like he’s the last prime rib left at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Logan extends his leg without thinking, kicking the infected person squarely in the stomach.

The guy stumbles backwards, landing on his butt on the sidewalk. He shakes his shaggy head back and forth like a dazed cartoon rabbit.

“Oh my god,” Veronica says softly from beside him. “Piz.”

Logan spares her a quick glance, empathy welling at the expression on her face. But his instinct to protect her is currently outweighing his instinct to comfort her. His gaze returns to the more immediate threat, who’s attempting to stand back up.

He raises his weapon, but makes no move to shoot. “Tell me what you want me to do here, Veronica.”

She exhales a shaky breath. “Did you see that wound? He’s already gone.” She watches Piz as he tries to stand and falls back over. “And it’s a shitty way to go. Mind gone, driven by unquenchable thirst and hunger… It’s slow and it’s painful, and… I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

The zombie-formerly-known-as-Piz has finally gotten his legs to cooperate. He raises his head, spotting them in the doorway, and his teeth come together in some kind of demonic grin. He rushes forward, charging at them, and then-

Both guns go off simultaneously, and he collapses to the ground. Logan shuts the door and engages the deadbolts quickly, knowing the sound of gunshots will draw unwanted attention. He can only hope that the surrounding buildings will create confusing echoes , helping them to remain undiscovered. 

Veronica is standing there, gun still in hand, her head bowed and her eyes closed.

“I was the one who got him,” Logan lies. He knows they both hit their target, but maybe it’ll help her sleep better.

She nods, offering him a humorless smile. “I… better go make a call.”

Veronica places her gun back in her holster and retreats to the kitchen with phone in hand. Logan knows she needs some privacy, some time to grieve. And he needs some time to come to terms with what they just had to do.

He cleans up their card game and strolls through the small shop, taking mental inventory of their supplies. He stops at the bookshelf (taking a moment to flip  _ Persuasion _ right-side up and tuck it beside  _ Sense and Sensibility _ ), and pulls out a copy of  _ Love in the Time of Cholera _ . Because upside of the zombie apocalypse? He may finally get a chance to read all these great classics he never seems to have time for.

When Veronica returns, he closes the book and walks over to her.

“You okay?”

“No, but… I will be. It was the humane thing to do. And I imagine it won’t be the last time we need to make that choice.”

Logan expels a long breath. “I hate to say it, but you’re probably right. Did you talk to your dad again?”

“Yeah; he’s fine. Turns out these things don’t much like dogs, and ours has made it his special mission to protect my dad at all costs.”

“Makes sense,” he replies. “You know how dogs feel about squirrels.”

The corner of Veronica’s lip turns up, and he’s glad his stupid pun made her smile.

“Seriously, though,” he adds. “I’m glad he’s safe.”

She nods. “Me too. And it’s a good thing I didn’t go to Lilly’s. Her brother Duncan is infected too.”

“Oh shit, Duncan? I know him…”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. Her dad has access to some kind of radical new treatment, so… Lilly thinks Duncan’s going to make it.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.” Veronica yawns. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”

“Me too.”

She glances around the shop. “I’m not looking forward to sleeping on this hardwood floor tonight.”

Logan doesn’t say anything, and Veronica glances up at him.

“What?” she asks.

“Well… the person who owned this place? She, uh, used to work nights at a bar around the corner, and then have to get up super early to open up the shop.”

“So?”

“So she keeps a cot in the supply closet. But… you know, there’s just the one.”

Veronica looks him up and down. And then she shrugs. “Hey, it’s the zombie apocalypse, right? I’m game if you are.”

Logan grins. “In that case, follow me.”


	6. 'Better Than Texas Tea' by CMackenzie

When she finally catches up to Piz she’s going to take this hike again, just so she can bury his body in one of the coves. Fingers crossed it will flood and carry his remains out to sea. Dating him was a mistake on par with these awful bangs. Veronica huffs. Her hot breath fails to lift the hair from her sweaty forehead. She swats at the bangs, only for them to resolutely fall back across her face.

“Fuck you, Piz,” she shouts to no one. He’d left her on day two of this ‘idyllic’ (his word, not hers) three-day hike through forest, fog, surf, and sand. 

_ “Are you breaking up with me?” _

_ “We aren’t right for each other, Veronica.” He may have used the word ‘we’, but his tone delivered the real message-- YOU aren’t right for ME. _

_ “So you’re just going to leave me in the middle of nowhere?” _

Now she’s trapped in—she checks the map and frowns—Petrolia. And, if the infinitesimal line is to be believed, there is only one road in and out of this godforsaken place. North will take her to Ferndale, and south will take her to a place called Honeydew.  _ After _ she hikes an additional 14 miles, that is.

Cursing Piz again, she reshoulders her backpack and leaves the beach, heading inland along Lighthouse Road. She needs a bathroom, something to drink, and a phone, preferably in that order.

There are no houses visible from the road, which confirms her belief that ZERO people live this far from civilization. The fat and heavy sun slides closer to the ocean. Veronica can almost hear it sizzle as it slips into the cooling Pacific, and turns the horizon into a glowing orange fire. 

Even if she finds a phone, it will take Wallace more than five hours to get here from Stanford, which means another night in the tent for her. She grimaces, longing for a mattress and indoor plumbing, but keeps walking.

As she rounds a bend in the road, a bank barn heaves into view. Rectangular with two levels and a gabled roof, the cedar barn hugs the side of the rocky hill. Its second level extends over the first to create an overhang shelter. A man sits in a chair with his jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He’s wearing a white t-shirt, and a cowboy hat is perched over his face, blocking out the last remaining light of the day. There’s faded writing on the side of the barn with only one discernable word-- coffee. The promise of caffeine lures her forward. 

“Lost?” The man asks from beneath his hat.

“No, I… uh…” Her eyes alight on more writing. A newer sign in gleaming, gold script. “The Hideout,” Veronica reads out loud. “What are you hiding from?”

He pushes back the brim of his hat. “What’ve you got?”

Veronica’s witty comeback is forgotten as he stands and takes a step closer. His jeans are as faded as the writing on the barn and worn in all the right places. The white tee is stretched taut over a well-defined chest, and his arms… 

Not wanting to get caught staring, she jerks her gaze to his face and catches him in his own slow perusal of her. Self-consciously, her fingers attempt to fix her errant bangs, and she’s instantly embarrassed at the effort to primp. To cover, she points to the barn. “I thought you sold coffee.”

“I do,” he answers, his eyes never leaving her face. “Do you want to come inside?”

_ Said the spider to the fly _ , she thinks, but doesn’t say. Instead she nods and follows him into the barn. The smell of roasted coffee mingles with the sweet scent of vanilla, and her stomach growls, reminding her it's been hours since she ate anything. She glances around the post-and-beam interior. 

Small groupings of tables and chairs are arranged in front of a stone fireplace. A long wood counter runs along the opposite wall and on its surface is a fancy espresso machine. “You run a coffee shop in a town with a population of two?” She points to him, then herself, to emphasize the ridiculousness of the idea.

“It’s also a book store, cafe, and a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Of course it is,” she murmurs. Small-town life at its finest- everything needs to serve multiple purposes. But since this will save her from another night of sleeping on the ground, she won’t complain. “I’m Veronica, by the way.”

“Logan.” He shakes the hand she offers and holds it for a beat before letting go. “What can I get you?” 

The question throws her for a moment, until he crosses the room toward the counter, and waves at the chalkboard menu. All the offerings are simple sandwiches, but they sound delicious. She orders the California Club--turkey, swiss, bacon, spinach, tomato, and avocado, with a fried egg and chipotle mayonnaise--then excuses herself to use the bathroom.

When she returns, her sandwich is waiting next to a bottled water and a piping hot cup of coffee. Logan is still behind the counter, leaning and relaxed. For something to say she asks, “So why Petrolia?”

“It’s the site of California’s first oil well,” he says, as if this is a real answer. Veronica hums the Beverly Hillbillies theme song and he smiles. It is slow and sexy and her breath catches. 

“But seriously, folks…” she prompts.

“Confession?” His eyes meet hers. “I don’t actually own this place. I just needed a quiet place to write while my ex gets her stuff out of my house.”

“Ex-wife?” 

“Girlfriend,” he corrects, and then smirks. “Lilly would never agree to something as conventional as marriage… or fidelity.”

“Ouch,” Veronica says, while deciding his ex is an idiot for cheating on him. Maybe even more of an idiot than Piz, which is saying something.

Logan shrugs, indifferent. Based on his reaction and the easy way he shared the information, Veronica guesses the breakup was coming for some time and he’s past the hurt, or it happened long ago and Lilly is just procrastinating with her move. 

“What about you-- are you dating anyone?” The interest is apparent in his eyes, and Veronica feels her skin warm. This trip might be idyllic after all.

“Not anymore.” She tells him about her breakup on the Lost Coast trail. “The asshole actually said, ‘it’s probably best,’ before walking off, AND taking the tide tables with him.”

“Ouch,” Logan echoes with a wince. “Did any of the coves flood?”

“No, I got lucky.” In more ways than one. 

“You know, I think we both got lucky.” 

She smiles and tilts her head. “Why’s that?”

“Because now I can do this.” Logan leans across the counter to kiss her. It is just a soft brush of his lips against hers, but the contact is filled with promise. He lightly touches her cheek as he pulls back. “Better than Texas tea.”


	7. 'One More Second Chance' by Winterfool

Rain was pouring down in sheets, and what had been just a gentle, steady drumming on the roof a few minutes ago now sounded like a hail of bullets ricocheting off the metal frame of the car. Veronica had slowed right down - she had hydroplaned only once before, when she had been tailing a suspect and didn’t want to lose sight of him, and it was not an experience she was keen to repeat - but even so she could see barely five feet in front of her, and that was mostly shadowy darkness broken only by the occasional dazzling glare of headlights as another car passed her.

A sign a few metres back had indicated that there was a rest stop coming up, and she wondered if she ought to pull into it. Stopping until the worst of the rain had passed would be the most sensible thing to do, but it would mean leaving the highway where at least she knew all she had to do was drive straight. Well, so long as she could see enough to tell what direction straight was in. 

As Veronica was mulling over her decision, there was a burst of bright light and a jagged fork of lightning streaked through the sky ahead. It was followed a few moments later by the loud, deep crashing of thunder. 

Logically, Veronica knew that she was (relatively) safe in her car. She had gotten good grades in school, so she knew the rubber tyres of her car would ground any lightning that could, theoretically, hit her. But knowing that didn’t stop the icy shiver of fear that ran up her spine as she watched the sky crack open right above her, and  _ felt _ the vibrations of the thunder. 

The turning for the rest stop was right ahead of her. Flipping on her turn signal, Veronica pulled into it. Right now, she would far rather feel safe inside and just wait for the storm to pass than to keep driving through it.

The road wound round a couple of bends that she took at a very slow pace, rain still cascading down and the world seeming far darker now the lightning had faded, but eventually she came out into a parking lot. There were a couple of shapes that she took to be other cars too far away to make out properly, a gas station and a coffee shop or cafe which, Veronica was relieved to see, still had its lights on despite the late hour. With hardly anyone about there was plenty of space to park, but she pulled into a spot as close to the coffee shop as she could simply to reduce the distance she would have to run to the doors - not, she supposed, that it would make that much difference when it was raining this heavily. 

Sure enough, it was like stepping under a waterfall: as soon as she opened her door and got out she was soaked through. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks in moments and even in the few seconds it took to sprint to the shop the cold had seeped through her clothes and covered her skin in goosebumps. She was breathing heavily as she ducked inside, water dripping down her face and off her chin and her feet squelching in her boots with each step. 

The shop was bigger than Veronica had thought, simply but prettily decorated in pine wood with small square tables set out at evenly spaced intervals and nondescript pop music playing quietly from radio speakers in the corners. Along one wall ran a counter currently manned by a college-aged kid with earphones in, lazily scrolling through his phone and paying no attention to the door. A menu board was hung up behind him, with a chalkboard section detailing the day’s specials. 

Feeling a little bad about the trail of water she was leaving behind her - but only a little, it wasn’t like she could help it - Veronica walked up to the counter. The barista didn’t look up, didn’t even seem to notice that Veronica was standing there. Since he had headphones in she couldn’t just pointedly clear her throat, so she reached out and tapped on the glass counter-top. The kid’s thumb paused mid-scroll, and he slowly lifted his eyes to take in the sight of the bedraggled blonde woman in front of him. One eyebrow arched up and with exaggerated deliberateness he popped an earbud out and cocked his head in a way that said,  _ Yeah?  _

“So sorry to interrupt.” Veronica spoke through gritted teeth. Normally some kid’s attitude wouldn’t have irritated her quite so easily, but it was late, she was tired, cold and wet and on edge from the storm. 

The barista just looked bored. “Do you want something?”

Having worked as a waitress in both highschool and college, Veronica didn’t exactly expect a big, fake smile and a chipper greeting, and she supposed being stuck doing the graveyard shift at a rest stop in the middle of nowhere wouldn’t exactly give a kid trying to make some money any more reasons to pretend to enjoy his job. Still, would it have killed him to put in just a  _ little _ effort?

“I’m guessing towels aren’t on the menu?” she tried joking, but even she could hear the stiffness in her voice.

No response.

“No spare uniforms you could warm up?”

Not even a flicker of a smile. 

Then a voice came from behind her - a low voice, threaded with amusement, that she hadn’t heard in a long time but was still so achingly well-known to her that it made something inside Veronica’s chest flip over.

“Ah yes, that well-known coffee-shop special, three-shot espresso with a black polo-shirt to go.”

“It’s a combination as classic as salt and pepper, or Bert and Ernie, and frankly I’m downright horrified that it’s not on the specials board,” Veronica replied, turning round to look up at Logan Echolls.

It had been a good four or five years since the last time she had seen him, so she found the man facing her was a strange blend of familiar and different. He was broader across the shoulders than she remembered, and had filled out in his arms and chest, while his face was sharper, more angled, without the boyishness of his early twenties. But the hazelly-brown eyes full of warmth, and the smirk that played at the corner of his mouth, those were exactly the same as always. 

It was the eyes that had gotten her, that summer after she had graduated college when her roommate and best friend, Lilly, had dragged her to a resort in Florida to celebrate. It was a resort that Lilly had visited pretty much every year growing up, along with a group of fellow bored rich kids who had bonded over the trauma of having shitty parents and too much money, and as usual they had all been there and were eager to party. Veronica, who had grown up poor with a single father who struggled to make ends meet and had worked her way through her degree in criminal psychology, didn’t have a single thing in common with Lilly’s friends and had expected to have a miserable summer - until Logan had arrived, full of snark and wit to match Veronica’s own and a gaze so intense it had set her pulse racing every time it was turned on her.

Her pulse was racing now, but it was more from embarrassment than anything. Logan had the audacity to be completely dry and snug in a very well fitting dark blue henley shirt, and. Veronica was suddenly intensely aware of the fact that the ends of her hair were still dripping. She wished she could remember whether the mascara she’d thrown on that morning was waterproof. 

“It is truly an institutional failure and I, for one, could only sympathise if you wanted to post a scathing one-star review on Trip Advisor to warn other unsuspecting travellers that they’ll need the foresight to bring their own polo shirts if they want to stop here,” he said, in that lightly deadpan manner he had always had. “But maybe you could make do with a coffee and some good company this once.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow and looked curiously around. “Why, you know someone here worth talking to?”

“I’ve got to compliment myself or no one else will, right?” Logan grinned, and looked over at the barista whose expression suggested he was not being paid anywhere near enough for this. “She’ll have a macchiato with an extra shot of espresso, and a double chocolate chip cookie, and I’ll have another cappuccino and hazelnut biscotti. Unless,” he paused, and glanced down, “your order’s changed?” 

She was tempted to say that it had, just to see how he would react - but she  _ really _ wanted that macchiato and cookie, so in the end shook her head. “No, it hasn’t.” 

Five years and he still remembered her coffee order. How about that.

The barista slunk away to fill their orders, and Veronica got the distinct impression that he was rolling his eyes as he turned away. 

“He’s lucky I believe in tipping generously to make up for the capitalist hellscape that refuses to pay a decent minimum wage regardless of attitude,” she commented. “Because I am not impressed.”

“Kids these days, huh? Where are the good manners we had when we were their age?” 

Logan tutted and shook his head, while the corner of Veronica’s mouth curled up in a wry smile. 

“So . . .” Although the barista had only walked a couple of feet away to turn on the espresso machine, he might as well have gone into a different room entirely. Suddenly she and Logan seemed to be in their own bubble of space, the air between them heavy with awkward tension. What exactly were you supposed to say to someone you had a summer fling with after college and wondered about on and off ever since? 

“So,” Logan echoed, then when neither of them seemed to know how to continue he titled his head slightly to the side and said with an exaggerated sigh, “Of all the coffee shops at all the rest stops in all the world . . .”

“I always did know how to make an entrance.”

“That you did.”

A strand of wet hair fell into Veronica’s eyes as she shifted her weight and she brushed it back. “How come you’re not rocking the drowned rat look, too?” 

“I have this wonderful thing, it’s called an  _ umbrella _ . Opens up, provides shelter from rain?”

“That does sound useful, I have to admit.”

“Also, in fairness, I got here before the worst of the rain started.” Logan shrugged. “I stopped to get gas, then saw the clouds and the forecast and figured I’d wait it out.”

A clatter on the counter as the barista returned and set their cups down made Veronica startle a little. She had already half-forgotten there was anyone else around, too caught up in watching Logan as he talked, picking out the changes in him. Realising that made her cheeks warm a little. She went to get her wallet out, hoping the rain hadn’t managed to soak through into her purse, but Logan was already pulling out a card and handing it over.

“I still owe you a drink, as I recall,” he said. 

Remembering their last night together that summer, the game of truth or dare on the beach that had ended with Logan daring Veronica to go skinny dipping and then following her into the water, and the drink Veronica had claimed as her due forgotten in the wake of other, more pleasurable pursuits, she felt cheeks getting more than just a little warm. 

“I meant an alcoholic drink when I said that.”

“But you didn’t specify that when we made the deal, so I’m free to interpret ‘drink’ as I see fit.”

“What, did you go to law school since I last saw you?” Veronica asked, taking her coffee and following Logan over to a table in the back corner of the coffee shop. He had clearly been there a while; there was already an empty coffee cup and biscotti wrapper, a hoodie and bag sat on one of the chairs, and there was an open book that he had apparently been reading but stopped to set down, spine up, on the table when he came over to the counter.

Had that just been to get a second cappuccino, or had he seen her as she came in?

Veronica tilted her head to see the book title as she sat down. Vonnegut. One of his favourites, she recalled.

Setting her cup down on the table, she unzipped her leather jacket and shrugged out of it. It had, thankfully, managed to keep the very worst of the rain off her t-shirt, though the bottom hem and the edge of the neckline were still a little damp. But it was better than the damp, clingy leather of the jacket, though being without it she felt suddenly cold and shivered a little.

A moment later something soft and warm hit her. Logan’s hoodie.

“You can wear that until you’re a bit drier and warmer,” he said. “And to answer your question - no, I didn’t, but I heard my dad and his agent arguing enough over his contracts when I was a kid to learn the basics.” 

Veronica hesitated only briefly before pulling the hoodie on. She was too cold to overthink it. It was far bigger than her, the sleeves immediately falling over her hands, but it was delightfully cosy and she couldn’t help giving a happy sigh as she relaxed into its warmth. It also, she noticed, smelled of Logan’s cologne - the same woody, slightly spicy scent she remembered. It was comforting, but at the same time sent something fluttering in her stomach.

Or maybe that was just Logan’s dark eyes on her, an expression she couldn’t quite read flickering in them before he broke eye contact to take a sip of his coffee.

“So what have you been up to, then?” Veronica asked. “Other than not appearing on  _ America’s Most Wanted _ . Congrats on that.”

“I wouldn’t rule it out just yet. I’m an editor, and sometimes I think the easiest way of dealing with my authors would just be homicide.” 

Leaning back in his seat he started telling her about his work for an indie publishing company in L.A., and the difficulties in getting some writers to accept that cutting was sometimes good for a book. Veronica found herself laughing as he did impressions of his most difficult authors, and listening with fascination as he described a manuscript he was working on and how he was trying to refine and shape it. 

He told her about how he had ended up there pretty much by accident, when a friend of his who was writing a book asked him to read it. He had sent her an email full of notes that she had passed on to her editor, who had then called Logan up and asked if he wanted a job. Unemployed and just bumming around at the time he had said yes for something to do, but had found, to his surprise, that he enjoyed the work and was  _ good _ at it. 

It was good, but still kind of strange to hear about his life. There had been so many points over the years when she had thought of him; she would hear a song that reminded her of him, or see something in a shop window that she knew he’d like, or hear a joke she wished she could share with him. She would wonder where he was and what he was doing, if he was happy. Now she could start to fill in the blanks.

In turn she told him about what she’d been doing over the last five years, starting with the position at the FBI that had started out well but ultimately crashed and burned because Veronica had been unable to work well with a partner or kept disobeying direct orders. 

“I think what pissed them off the most was that I was usually right,” she shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I broke the rules, but nine times out of ten I also solved the case.”

After leaving - of her own accord, albeit when she was probably only an hour away from being fired - she had followed in her dad’s footsteps and gone private, dusting off her PI licence and opening a firm in New York. 

“Business was good, but . . . I don’t know, I never quite felt settled in New York. So I’m moving back to Neptune to work with my dad at his firm. I’m on my way there now, actually - or I was, before I had to stop for this.” She gestured to the windows, still being pelted with rain.

“Nothing to keep you in New York? Friends, boyfriend? Husband and three adorable children? Lesbian lover?”

His tone was light, playful, but there was something in the way he was watching her, almost carefully, that made her chest tighten a little.

“Three kids in five years?”

“Hey, it’s biologically possible.” He grinned. “Or maybe you already had little Marcie and Jackson five years ago,and they were waiting at home with Fabio the whole time.”

“It’s Beth, Lucas and Sergio, actually.”

“Oh, damn, and I’ve already written your Christmas card, too.”

Veronica couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it, her shoulders shaking slightly. Once her amusement had subsided a little, she shook her head. “No, no one. There was a guy I was dating for a while, Piz -”

“ _ Piz _ ? As in, rhymes with  _ gee, whizz _ ?” Logan asked, eyebrows stretched up in disbelief.

“As in, short for Stosh Piznarski.”

“I don’t know how that’s supposed to be better.”

Veronica couldn’t exactly disagree with him, so she chose to ignore it. “ _ Anyway _ . He was a nice guy and we dated for a while but he just . . . he wanted me to be something I wasn’t. He kept pushing for me to commit more, and he was never really okay with the PI work. I couldn’t keep pretending to try and make him happy, so we called it quits.”

She was looking down at her coffee, so didn’t see the look that passed over Logan’s face. Gently, he reached out and placed a hand over hers. His fingers were rougher than she remembered, but his touch was soft and warm, and sent a shiver running through her. She looked up at him and smiled.

“So, what about you and Petronella?”

“Ah, the love of my life.” He placed his other hand mockingly over his heart. “Well, we eloped to Vegas, got married by Elvis, you know the whole shebang. But after the honeymoon was over things were just different, we didn’t talk as much, it was like we were different people. Before I knew it, she’d packed up her things and was out the door.”

“So tragic.”

“Story of my life.”

Veronica had forgotten how fun it was to talk to him, the rhythmic back and forth of their conversations. More than anyone she had ever known, Logan didn’t just keep up with her snarky one-liners but challenged her and kept her on her toes. It was one of the things that had drawn her to him, the way she couldn’t figure him out as quickly and easily as she did everyone else. 

But it wasn’t just the exhilaration of it all. Underneath that, he had seemed to understand her in a way no one else had - she could tell him things that she struggled, sometimes, to even say to her dad or to Lilly. He made her want to let down her walls and open up. So much so that it had terrified her, that summer. Maybe that was why she had used the excuse of it just being a fling to flee to New York instead of seeing where their feelings might have led. 

It was definitely why she had regretted it. 

“Seriously,” she said now, not sure if she really did want to hear about it if he had found true love with some five-foot-ten supermodel and never thought twice about Veronica. 

Logan shrugged. “I’ve dated on and off, but nothing really serious. I did have a thing with one of my writers, actually, but that . . . kind of went south when she saw my notes on her book.”

“How far south?” Veronica asked, curiosity piqued by his tone of voice.

“A ninety-thousand word manuscript thrown off the roof of my building far south.” 

She whistled. “At least she didn’t set it on fire?”

“True. She probably would have burned down my apartment in the process.”

“Here’s to crappy exes and bad fiction.” With a grin she held up her half-empty coffee cup, and Logan chuckled and clinked his against it in a toast. 

A companionable quiet settled around them as they sat back, sipping from their cups, listening to the beat of the rain against the windows. Veronica’s phone beeped with messages - her dad and Wallace, checking she was okay and not in trouble given the weather - and Logan read through a few more pages of his book as she typed out replies.

Then, as she slipped the phone back into her pocket, she looked up to see Logan watching her.

“Do you ever wonder,” he said slowly, “what might have happened if we hadn’t gone our separate ways that summer?”

Veronica’s heart gave an unsteady thump. “. . . yeah.” 

“I thought . . . I dunno what, really, I just - I’d never felt about anyone the way the way I felt about you.”

“Neither had I,” she admitted quietly.

“And I understood what you said, about keeping it perfect and always having it to hold on to, you know? I even thought you were probably right. Why ruin a good thing, when we’d probably only hurt each other.” He gave her a crooked, sorrowful little smile. “But I’ve always regretted not coming after you.”

Her chest felt so tight that she could hardly breathe, and she couldn’t have looked away from his face for anything. His eyes were locked on hers, blazing with sincerity, and the unguarded openness in his expression made her ache. 

Tongue darting out to wet dry lips, she said, “I’ve always wished you had.”

He looked at her a moment longer, like he was searching for something, then slowly put down his book and reached back across the table to take her hand again.

“You know, Neptune’s not that far from L.A. Maybe I could follow you there instead.”

Veronica nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you could.” 


	8. 'Hide with Me Bean' by VMarsTrek

Veronica has seen better days. Her alarm failed to go off this morning, then her car decided to take up smoking inconveniently which made her late for class. She has had to spend the better part of the day in the library researching for a project only to find out her partner researched the same part. And when she drug herself home at 11:30pm she found her smarmy ex  _ Leo D’Amato  _ waiting outside her apartment building.

Gross.

She dated Leo for a week until she caught him trying to put something in her drink at a club. That was four months ago and he doesn’t seem to get the message. Veronica is about to report him to his superior officer. Which is also her father thus the hesitation because while she doesn’t care what happens to him, her father might try to put her in a hamster ball.

Veronica spent close to an hour trying to lose him around the city on foot finally losing him in Victoria Park. So she’s rewarding herself with a triple venti extra shot of espresso mocha frap, it honestly doesn’t even matter so long as it’s cold and coffee.

She’s paying for her drink and cake pop, trying to catch her breath, when she sees him pop his head into “Beans, Magical, Beans” , her favourite coffee haunt. 

_ “Please don’t see me, please let me have my coffee in peace.” she thinks, shielding her face with her hair and coffee cup. _

Veronica spins away from where Leo has entered the cafe and only sees one open seat. At a table with a tanned, muscled hottie, nose buried in what appears to be a Norton Anthology of English Literature. Crap. There is a complication she doesn’t need, because it has been months, and he is  _ noice  _ to look at. 

_ Back in the game Veronica. No time. _

Beyond him she sees a family start to pack up in a far corner so she starts to make her way, ducking down.

Two steps in, and she is suddenly pulled down into the spare seat by Norton’s hottie. He doesn’t make eye contact, but says, “I see him. Stay as long as you need to.” He pushes the school’s paper towards her.

Veronica places her cup and bag on the table, hooking her purse over the back of her chair. 

“Um, thanks. You have no idea what this means. I’m…..”

“Veronica!” Leo interrupts her mid sentence from 10 feet away. Panicked, she does the ONLY sensible thing a girl in this situation could do.

“Kiss me.” She whispers. “Quick before he gets any closer.” She knows this sounds crazy. She doesn’t know this guy, not even his name, hasn’t even seen his eyes, couldn't pick him out of a line up. But her gut is saying to trust  _ or is that lust _ . He probably thinks she’s nuts.

“Sorry, that sounds…” Veronica says, shaking her head, eyes wide looking a little panicked. Leo anywhere near her is not good news.

But she doesn’t get a chance to finish because the deepest, most chocolate coloured eyes are bearing down on her and lips so soft are attaching to hers. And before she can help herself, she is reaching up and gripping around his neck, pulling him in for more.

After what feels like both an eternity and also entirely too soon, he pulls slowly away staring at something over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry? Were you calling for my Bean? We haven’t seen each other all day, and I just couldn’t wait any longer. Isn’t it time we went back to OUR apartment, Bean?” He turns back and winks at Veronica.

She glances at a mirror behind chocolate eye hottie and sees Leo standing 2 feet behind her, mouth agape, fists bunched up at his sides.

“No, sorry to bother you. I’ll be going now.” He turns and hurries out of the coffee shop. Veronica can practically see the steam rolling off his head. She smiles, taking a deep breath of relief. Then turns back to her new...friend?

They stare at each other, coffee and books momentarily forgotten. There is an electric bubble around them that she swears she can feel coursing into her body. 

Pointing to Logan, she tries to pop the bubble, to no avail. “So, uh Bean?” Veronica starts pointing back at herself. Bubble still in tact.

“Well, an endearing nickname sounded about right to scare him off. Seemed to work.” He shrugged, smirking into his cup. “And I didn’t really catch your name. I’m Logan.” He slides his hand across the table, gently cupping her hand in his.

She looks at his hand, feeling butterflies land all over. “Veronica.” She rubs soft circles with her thumb on his hand, without thinking, not breaking his gaze. “Did you mention, ah, something about getting out of here?” Veronica asks, head tilt employed. “It’s getting late, and I think they close at 1.”

Logan rises, scooping up his books, twirling her into his chest. “Why yes I did Bean,” He says, kissing her gently on the nose.


	9. 'Good in a Glass, Good on Green' by Marshmellow Bobcat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Slow Burn by Kacey Musgraves 

Veronica Mars pushes a large decaf iced, half pump of vanilla, four Splenda, skim-milk coffee towards High School nemesis—turned college summer-break nemesis, turned bosses’ daughter—Madison Sinclair. She looks ridiculous. Who wears espadrilles to mini-golf?

Madison narrows her eyes at the clear plastic cup. 

“I don’t think-”

Veronica levels her with an icy stare. “Thank you. Enjoy. Next!” 

“You know, it’s not my fault you were an unpopular bitch in high school.” 

Veronica looks behind Madison.

“Hi, welcome to Soda Pop and Coffee Shop. What can I getcha?”

Madison flounces off on a spin of her absurd shoes.

Okay, maybe she is a bitch. Who wouldn’t be, stuck inside this hellhole? When she applied for this job online, and accepted it by phone, she hadn’t realized the term “shop” was a euphemism. A generous one. For what essentially amounts to an oversized shed with a small kitchen, a front counter, and no air conditioning . 

Veronica glances at the clock while she adds whip to the next guest’s frozen cappuccino. 6:25pm. She slams the lid on the plastic cup and accidentally spills the entire thing on her white Sinclair’s Cove uniform polo. She takes a breath. Cleans up as best she can. Starts over. 

Who’s she kidding? It’s not the “shop” that’s bothering her. Or Madison. It’s not the fact that despite the shop being ensconced in Sinclair’s Cove Mini Golf and Driving Range, the view from the shop consists of a chain link fence and a parking lot. 

It’s not even that she pulled the night shift, which means in four hours, that magical time will be upon them. The enchanted hour between 10pm and 11, where the families leave and drunk college kids arrive for glow in the dark mini-golf, when the business men leave the driving range, making room for boisterous bachelor parties. 

No. That’s not what’s making her jaw clench tighter with every tick of the clock. The problem is— 

Tires screech in the parking lot. A red BMW he probably borrowed from his mommy slides into one of the reserved Golf Pro spaces. 

Logan Fucking Echolls. 

_ He  _ pulled the late shift, too. She saw his name when she clocked in. But time is meaningless to an arrogant asshole like him. Especially not one she’s pretty sure is dating the boss's daughter. He’s never, ever on time. Not that it matters. 

She hands a muffin and a Pepsi to a disheveled parent, oblivious to the sweet thank you from what was probably a very cute child. 

Logan saunters through the gates of Sinclair’s Cove like he owns the place, and the women swarm in a cloud of Lululemon and Cartier. His appointment book is always full, and none of them seem to mind waiting for him, because they always come back. Not that she’s clocking his clients. She’s just observant. 

A hand waves in front of her face. “Yo! Veronica!” 

Shaking her head she focuses. “Hey, Wallace.” 

“You know, you really should get on that, Superfly.” he jerks his head backwards, indicating Logan Fucking Echolls. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Mmmm.” Wallace takes the chocolate chip cookie she offers him on reflex, “good luck with that. But I'm getting a little sick of you pining.” He strolls back to the mini-golf booth, munching on his free cookie. 

She stews, she serves, and she’s just about to let it go when she comes face to face with none other than Logan Fucking Echolls and Madison Fucking Sinclair. 

“Hey, there.” Logan dimples at her, and Veronica remains stone-faced. Madison looks absurdly pleased with herself. 

“What can I get for you?”

Hands in his perfectly-pressed khaki pockets, he rocks back on his heels, surveying the square menu nailed to the side of the shed, uh, shop. 

“My friend here will take a blue slushy--” he doesn’t see Madison’s eye twitch at the term ‘friend’ “--and I’ll take a coffee, and make it Irish,” he adds, with a wink. 

“No slushies. No booze.” 

She taps the scrawled sign under the menu that reads, ‘slushie machine broken’, and the more formal one under that proclaiming, ‘no alcoholic beverages on premises’. 

“Just waters then, Veronica.” 

And Veronica wonders if she practices that grating tone, or if it comes naturally. 

Stalking to the refrigerated cooler, she grabs the generic labeled water bottles and does her best not to fling them across the counter. 

“Have a great day!” she sings, sarcasm on full display. 

He turns to leave then pauses, giving Madison a ‘hold up’ gesture. Trotting back to the counter, he adds, “You have coffee on your shirt. Did you know?” Logan raises his eyebrows at her, a smile playing about his lips. 

“Thanks,” she snaps through clenched teeth, skin flushed. 

But it haunts her for over an hour. Simmers under the surface—the way his lips curved around the syllables of her name, the undivided focus, his heated gaze through her clothes—until just before closing, he reappears. 

“Hey, any muffins left?” 

There are, in the back. 

“Nope.” 

His eyes bore into her like he’s reading the secrets of the fucking universe, and she caves. 

“Fine,” she sighs. “They’re in the back. I was just closing up, anyway.” She gestures to the cardboard boxes she had planned to lock in the back room. “Give me a minute.” 

Juggling a couple of boxes, she walks to the stupidly small stockroom, opens the door and places one on the floor to prop it open, shelving the other. Turning, she bumps her nose into a broad chest. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Veronica rubs at her nose as Logan moves further into the room. “Hey, where’d you--” 

The stockroom door slams shut. 

“Get that box,” she finishes wryly. 

Startled, Logan shoves his box onto a free shelf. “Are we stuck?”

“Yup.” She doesn’t bother to look at him. Just sits on the floor of the stockroom and leans her head on a metal shelf in a semblance of comfort. 

“You’re remarkably calm considering we might starve and die here.” He sits next to her. 

With a small laugh she answers, “Wallace is my ride, he'll come looking for me after we close. Lights are on, my bag is in plain sight. Won't be long now.” 

“Is he your…?”

“No,” she confesses, twisting her body towards his. She can feel the heat of him through her clothes. 

She clears her throat. “Is Madison your…?”

“No. But I don’t have a lot of people, and even though she’s… Madison… it’s better than nothing.” 

Veronica’s not sure that’s true, but she deflects by half-crawling to the shelf across from them. 

“So,” she digs around a box she hid there at the start of the season. “What’s the deal with you and the stepford wives?”

“I just...need some cash of my own. Strings-free.” His tone has an air of confession about it that makes her want to know more, with a touch of finality that tells her not to ask. 

She crawls back with a small bottle of Jack and a glass. 

“You said no booze!” he accused. 

She shrugs. Pouring, she holds it out to him. “Gotta pass the time.” 

He takes it from her, and his fingers linger over hers, and suddenly the air feels thick, and she has to swallow. 

In a voice that sounds trembly to her own ears she asks, “So, what time is it? How long do you think we’ll be trapped in here?”

He swallows, one long sip, humming a little as it slides down his throat. He shifts his body closer to hers. “Long enough.” 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Tropes Over Coffee, Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534741) by [NorCal91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorCal91/pseuds/NorCal91)




End file.
